


Wait for me (I'm coming, too, I'm coming, too)

by shadows_of_1832 (SaoirseVictoire)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Bonus Day: Musical Mash-Up, EnjonineWeek, EnjonineWeek2019, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 10:15:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20356807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaoirseVictoire/pseuds/shadows_of_1832
Summary: Eponine makes the choice to leave France for a chance at a better life. Enjolras, after the loss at the barricades, follows her.





	Wait for me (I'm coming, too, I'm coming, too)

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the musical Hadestown's "Wait for Me"

She’s swept away in the rain at sunset, and he watches as she vanishes in the distance.

“The ship leaves at midnight in five days’ time.” He hears her voice so fresh in his ears. “There’s a better place for me elsewhere. I’ll survive there, stay here and I’ll perish. Your dreams don’t need me, Enjolras. You go fight, make sure France sees the glory She deserves.”

“You’ve signed your name on a line that takes away your freedom.” The words come out with an unintended harshness, trying to mask the feeling of betrayal. “You could have done better than that, I could have given you that and ask for nothing in return!”

He remembers the stillness that followed, how the soft determination in her face faded to one of pain, shielding a sense anger, resentment perhaps, as what must be a million thoughts running through her mind, perhaps now questioning the decision she made too late.

“You would not let me.” He shakes his head. “You’ve got too much pride to accept help from people who care about you.”

The last phrase must have stung like a hornet, as the anger overcomes her in a wave. “You know all my life’s been spent bargaining. There’s no such thing for me as a free handout; someone always wants something in return.”

_Wait for me, I’m coming_

_Wait, I’m coming with you_

_Wait for me, I’m coming, too, I’m coming, too_

Enjolras stands on the docks in Calais, watching, staring in defeat as her ship disappears with her underneath a starry sky. He’s standing there, arm in a sling from the worst of his injuries at the failed barricades. He made it out with all he can refer to as “sheer luck.” In truth, he should be on the mend in a bed. All he’s been through, all it took to try and catch Eponine before her ship left the port, and he misses her by what all he can guess is half an hour, if that.

He should be dead; she likely thinks him dead along with all the others. What good would it do for her to wait for him, a dead man? He’s almost close as dead, what only feels like hours ago covered in his own blood as well as that of his friends’.

The entire ride to Calais had been agonizing, not just from the physical pain but from that of which he felt and would feel were he to miss her or were she to deny him despite the journey.

And he’s missed her. All that, and he misses her.

“What’s the sorry face for?” a man from beside him says; Enjolras thought he was alone.

“The ship…I was supposed to stop my friend from boarding that ship,” he replies, staring at the swirling water below. “I missed her. She…she is all I have left.”

The man nods, a solemn expression on his face. “All this work for a friend? You seemed to have come from a place far, and chasing after her in the state you’re in.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“And you’re giving up now?”

“What does it matter to you?” Enjolras asks, looking towards the man. “I have no way to get to her. I am in no shape to attempt even swimming out to her.”

“That’s the _Eurydice_, isn’t it? Bound for Boston?” the man’s eyes flicker around to nearby ships, all dark except for the few torches alight on some of the decks. “There’s a merchant ship leaving for there at dawn. If I were you, I’d see about getting on to that ship. You might not beat the _Eurydice_ to port, but if you want to have any chance of finding your lover—”

“My friend,” Enjolras corrects, his voice stern but steady. “A very dear friend.”

“My apologies. If you want to have any chance of finding your dear friend, that ship’s your best chance.” The man comes closer, and lowers his voice. “Though a warning to you: Boston’s a big place. I wish you luck finding her after you reach port.”

Enjolras takes a deep breath, glancing at the horizon. “Thank you, monsieur.”

_Wait for me, I’m coming_

_Wait, I’m coming with you_

_Wait for me, I’m coming, too, I’m coming, too_

Enjolras leans against the starboard railing, gripping the wood to keep himself upright. Never having been on a ship or even a small boat before, he’s unused to rocking from the waves that have replaced the firm, steady ground his legs have never left. The motion makes him feel ill; he believes it a miracle that he’s managed to keep his breakfast this far out, no piece of land in sight.

France is behind him, the United States ahead. Off to what’s been called the “free new land,” the land that has given many people a chance for freedom from the lands from within they were bound. France is too distant for his eyes to see.

He can hardly imagine what must lie on the other side of the ocean, if rumors are true. The whole idea, it always seemed a sort of legend, too good to be true, and that indeed people share similar downfalls as they do in his homeland.

He wonders what his parents must think now, as to what’s become of him. They know of what’s happened in Paris surely by now, must be searching for him, knowing of his ties and his plans. What fear they might have for not finding his corpse, or for not finding him at home with his essays and books. If any hope lingers in their hearts, let it be that he’s still alive, only not found.

Writing to them of his survival will be the second thing he does when he reaches land. The first, that will be finding Eponine.

_Who are you?_

_Where do you think you’re going?_

_Who are you?_

_Why are you all alone?_

_Who do you _

_Think you are?_

_Who are you _

_To think that you can walk a road that no one ever walked before?_

Enjolras has heard murmurs about that they are halfway across the Atlantic. By now, the waves no longer make him feel sick, able to walk on the deck and below without having to run to the nearest railing or pot. His shoulder has made progress in healing, a mere stiffness lingering where the bullet had been lodged; he finds himself useless compared to the captain and his crew, neglecting the fact he would have no clue how to sail the ship should the need arise.

He’s closer to Eponine, as the days pass. One more day at sea means one day less until he can go out and find her.

He wonders of her thoughts during her journey. What does she believe will be on the other side? Where will her new life on this land lead her? Does she think such happiness she’s longed for will be within reach?

And of him, what will become of him? If he finds her, when he does find her, what is he supposed to expect? Will she greet him with open arms, or will she criticize him for following her? She seemed so set that in his mind, bettering France was all he wanted, all he focused on, make it so that people no longer had to suffer for their daily needs.

But that wasn’t all he was, was it? Surely she saw how he cared about those he kept close: his family, the Amis, her. Surely she knew there was more to his life than freedom and progress?

_Think rationally_, he keeps to himself. _You have traveled so far to find her_.

He thinks back to his conversation with the man in Calais. “A friend,” he had called her. The phrase implies a closeness, a shared bond, similar interests but containing varying insights. “A dear friend.” Someone who enjoyed spending time with, someone who could correct him in the midst of his mistakes, someone who kept him grounded and calmed him in the midst of crises of all types.

But for “a dear friend,” how many people would cross an entire ocean for? Had he been true to his thoughts? In terms of the barricades, she was all he had left, the only one to survive the fight she did not participate in. Was there more to his reasoning beyond what he considered then?

“_I could have given you that and ask for nothing in return!_”

What had he truly meant when he told her those words?

Perhaps he’s breathed in more ocean air than what’s healthy.

_Wait for me, I’m coming_

_Wait, I’m coming with you_

_Wait for me, I’m coming, too_

_ I’m coming!_

When they reach land in the early hours of the morning, the feeling of ground finally beneath his feet is an odd but welcomed feeling. Among the docked boats, Enjolras makes out the _Eurydice_, and relief floods him.

_She’s near, she has to be!_

Only, where?

Following a few inquiries, he finds out the _Eurydice_ had docked the day prior, meaning she could have been anywhere by now. She never told him where it was she was going in specifics, only this is where her ship would port. Was she even in Boston? What if she was bound to not only leave the city, but the state of Massachusetts entirely? Who’s to say she wasn’t going to New York or Connecticut or elsewhere?

Finding her here is going to be more of a challenge than he previously considered.

He goes around to the bars and coffeeshops, anywhere where there was enough people who could have seen her. She must have stood out, being French in a land dominated by those of English and of English descent. He himself must have stood out, too, his accent and limited English vocabulary not an everyday sight for a majority of the population.

By evening, he reaches a small trace that hints her presence nearby. A young Frenchwoman of Eponine’s description was seen entering the household of a well-off family, and as rumor has it, to be one of their maids for a few years to pay off the debt she had taken to come across.

And in his heart, he knew there was no mistake!

He reaches the gate of the household at nightfall, and peers into the windows from a distance, to see if he could make out her face or catch a glimpse of her silhouette. A peculiar sight he must be to do such a thing!

But alas, in time, he’s graced in seeing her silhouette pass a lower window, carrying what looked to be a tray. A silhouette, anyway, but the profile of the face he glimpses is too familiar not to be!

He releases a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding.

With that, he departs for a place to rest for the night, with every intent to return the following day.

Enjolras finds her in the yard the following morning as he walks past the gate, serving a tray to who must be the Master and Mistress of the household as they sit at an outdoor table. He watches her, her long dark hair pulled back, dirt no longer on her cheeks, her ratty clothes now clean and simple and accompanied with an apron; she appears so different than the woman he knew on the other side of the ocean.

She must have caught sight of him, because there’s a pause in her movements when she glances towards the gate, accompanied by the look of surprise that must have covered the millions of thoughts running within her mind.

But she keeps herself in check. She continues her work, then nods to him in acknowledgement.

A few moments pass further, and the Master and Mistress disappear inside, and her with them. A part of him expects her to come back out and greet him or to shoo him away, only to have another maid run out to him and hand him a torn piece of paper.

“The Frenchwoman said to give you this,” she says, appearing confused about the situation. “And I should be telling you to get lost; were those in charge of the household to take notice of your presence, the police will have chased you off.”

He dips his head to the woman. “Thank you.”

She nods back, then turns and walks back to the house. He walks to where he’s hidden behind the stone wall around the corner, then looks at the torn piece of paper.

_Meet me behind the stone wall to the back of the house at nightfall._

The streetlamps glow when he returns, following Eponine’s instructions. She is already standing there, dressed in the same, simple clothes he had seen her in earlier, sans the apron.

She turns her head at the sound of his footsteps, and he catches the joy in her wide eyes as she runs to him. He picks up his pace to meet her.

She embraces him, holding him close and breathing in deeply.

“I missed you,” she murmurs into his ear. “You foolish man, I missed you.”

“And I, you,” he replies, taking in her familiar scent of roses.

The embrace ends, and he finds himself staring into her eyes, catching a glimpse of the moonlight within them. The softness of her features, the warmth of her expression, there’s a difference lingering he cannot bring himself to find.

“Enjolras,” she breathes, her hand on his shoulder. “I feel there’s something I must tell you…”

He brings his hands to caress her face and kisses her. And to much of his own surprise, she returns it, wrapping her arms around him to bring him closer, deeper, as if she desired to never let him go.

She leaves him breathless when they part. Her own breath is strained just the same, and she peers into his eyes.

“I can’t,” she says, her eyes dimmed. “In three years, once the debt is paid—”

He draws her in again, breathing and taking in the moment he didn’t realize until recently he longed for.

“And I will wait until then,” he whispers when they part once more.

“But what if you find another?”

“I will never.”

“And if I should find another?”

He smiles, shaking his head. “You will not, but were you to, then I would find myself in a long life alone.”

She laughs a little at that. “Then I won’t. It’d be a waste of your travels. Wait for me.”

He nods. “I will, and in three years’ time, our hearts will forever hold each other’s.”

She pulls him in for another kiss, her hands wandering from the back of his neck to his sides, while one of his hands hold the back of her head and the other the small of her back. It’s a closeness he takes in, with no desire to lose.

He gazes at her under the moonlight one more time, then they part, and she vanishes behind the wall.


End file.
